Slight of Hand
by Seeress
Summary: [slight AU, character death] In her profession, Catherine knows that a slip of the hand could be at the cost of a life. And nothing could be more accidental than a slight of hand...


Slight of Hand

_Disclaimer:_ All characters, plot and otherwise Gundam Wing related materials are property of their respective owners. This is a purely non-profit story written for entertainment purposes only.

_Summary:_ In her profession, Catherine knows that a slip of the hand could be at the cost of a life. And nothing could be more accidental than a slight of hand…

_Author's Notes_: Well, this is a different idea to what I usually get, but I must say that it's original. At least, I haven't seen any other stories written with this 'plot' (storyline). For this story, we're going to assume that Trowa never took Wufei back to the circus and Catherine's never met him. The only other pilot she's met (besides Trowa, of course) is Heero. So, this will occur in episode 12 (or thereabouts) when the circus has been called to an Oz base. Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Should I write a prequel, sequel, neither, or both? I have a better idea formed for the sequel (and it would probably be more interesting), but the prequel is sort of formed in my mind as well and it would clear this story up a bit. 

But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves. For now, read the story, but just bear in mind the question. Now, without further ado, the fic.

© Seeress, 2004.

**~*~*~*~**

Slight of Hand

Her life had changed since he had entered it.

She couldn't remember the monotone days, the ones where she had wished for something more exciting to liven up her life. She couldn't remember the old routines that she went through with numbness, not even needing to think.

But then he had arrived.

How exactly he had managed to get his job still amazed her. He had walked in calmly, handed his resume to the manager, and just made his presence felt right away. The manager had been furious, what with his lack of experience and his cool demeanour which he mistook for an "I-don't-care" attitude, but the lions had something else to say. So did she, for that matter. She had orders, after all. But even she was surprised at how little it took to persuade the irate man to agree; was he somehow getting orders as well?

He continued to amaze her the longer she knew him. Habitually he would disappear for long periods of time, sometimes returning just minutes before a performance. He made her job difficult at times, trying to keep the manager happy and him out of trouble. She had never known where he went off to, until he brought that other boy back, and it all started to make sense. It was then that she was told the truth.

Heero. At least, that's what Trowa called him; it was most likely a codename, not his real one. He was the Gundam pilot that had self-destructed, the one who was supposed to be dead.

_So you're the boy who died,_ she remembered thinking to herself. Then she had been given new orders after Heero had woken up, told to keep an eye on both Trowa and Heero. She watched their friendship progress; they were so alike that it was sometimes like looking at a double image. And Heero had made Trowa laugh. The sight made her sorry for what she knew she would soon be ordered to do. But war would spare no one. For the time being, they were all at peace. 

It was enough.

**~*~*~*~**

Her hands were shaking as she tried to apply her stage make-up, and she mentally cursed herself.

_Just another mission,_ she reminded herself, trying to no avail to stop her traitorous hands. Angry, she slammed her fists down on the surface of her dresser.

_//We have called for your services. Eliminate him before he can destroy the base.//_

"Catherine, you're on next!" one of the girls called to her. 

"I'll be right there!" she replied, trying to make her voice sound cheerful and, to her ears, failing miserably. "Damn it," she whispered under her breath. She grabbed her knives quickly, and, getting up abruptly, left her trailer and made her way to the backstage area. Trowa was already there, waiting.

"Hey Trowa!" she greeted, pasting a fake smile on her face. She hoped he couldn't see through it, but got the terribly queasy feeling that he could. "How's your friend?"

"He's fine," was the curt reply. "He's resting now."

It was more than she usually got out of him, and it pained her to ruin everything after she'd known him for so long. _Too bad we're fighting on opposite sides,_ she thought sadly. _You're really a good guy…_

She stopped her thoughts before they could go further, knowing that she'd never go through with it if she kept thinking 'happy thoughts.' The manager had announced their act, and Trowa had put on his half-mask before slipping out through the velvet curtains. She waited until her cue, and entered to a full-packed, loudly cheering crowd.

She felt everything flow back. This was just like the millions of times before, where there was only her and her target. The crowd faded into nothingness. Only Trowa was left, standing in a crucified position in front of the painted wooden board. Her uncertainty started to come back as she stared into his emerald eye, the only one visible. It was the same look he always had on. Memories flooded back to her.

_//You're not afraid to die, are you?//_

_//You want death. Crave it. And yet… you can't be killed.//_

Her hands had already found the knives tucked safely away in her costume, and brought them out with a flick of the wrist and a metallic hiss. She yanked back her arm, poised, ready to release. He continued to stare at her in the same way.

_//Why didn't you dodge that stray knife?!//_

_//I'm not paid to dodge.//_

Her hand started to shake from the tension. It would be so easy; just a little slight of hand to make it look like a horrible accident… 

The crowd was starting to creep back into her mind. She closed her eyes to block everything else out, and for some reason, Heero's face lashed out at her from memory.

Her eyes snapped open the moment she realized that she had just swung her arm forward and released. Four of the five knives landed where they should have: one on top of both his arms, one beside each of his legs. She knew without knowing that he wouldn't dodge. And as the knives were released, he knew without knowing that it would be his final show.

The fifth and traitorous knife, the one that hit last, buried itself hilt-deep in the dead centre of Trowa's forehead. It landed right at the edge of the mask, which had fallen off his face and landed with a thud at his feet. A look of absolute horror crossed her face as she watched his eyes, both visibly conveying his utmost gratitude.

His limp body slid to the ground, blood pooling around him in a death salute.

She finally heard the screams of the audience, the stampeding of feet around her. Without so much as a glance back, she turned and fled.

**~*~*~*~**

"You don't have to leave, Catherine. We all know it wasn't your fault." The manager had been at it for hours, trying to console her.

"I can't stay here," she replied, more truthfully than she would've liked. She was to be relocated to another country after her mission was over, and her orders were to be coming in that night. "I'm leaving in the morning."

"Please, reconsider. At least stay for Trowa's funeral."

Her back stiffened at the word. "I have to go. Please don't try to stop me."

Sensing her unease and finally accepting defeat, the manager sighed. "I wish you wouldn't do this, but it seems that you'll go no matter what I say. Well, I wish you a safe journey, then. You know how to contact me if you change your mind." And with that, he left her alone with her haunting thoughts.

She wasn't alone for long, however, before her private vid-com started beeping at her, indicating that there was an incoming call. She checked who was calling, and finding it on the secure line, she knew they would be her new orders.

A dark silhouette appeared on her screen.

"Where can peace be found?" a smooth, alto voice asked her.

"Peace lies on the other side of life, beside death," she answered with the line that had become a part of her.

The man in the screen, satisfied with her answer, continued on. "Lieutenant, you are to be relocated to Base 213 tomorrow at 0800 hours. A private jet will be waiting for you at Base 74."

"Affirmative."

The voice paused for a second, as if trying to properly phrase the next sentence.

"Your mission was successful?" A half-question, half-statement, hanging in the stillness and demanding an answer.

If I weren't, the base would be gone by now, she thought bitterly. But out loud she only said: 

"Affirmative. Mission complete."

The screen hissed with static then went blank to signal the end of the transmission. She reached out to turn off the screen, but ended up staring at her skilled hands in something akin to defeat. Her first successful mole attempt, and against a Gundam pilot no less. She should be happy, ecstatic.

But for some odd reason, she was suddenly left feeling strangely hollow inside. 

END.


End file.
